Shadows
by Elizabeth Stuart
Summary: Han contemplates Luke. Slash inference.


**Originally published in Elusive Lover #1, 1996**

**Shadows**

**by Elizabeth Stuart**

The club was as crammed with beings as he remembered it, though it had been years since he'd been here with Chewie. One part of Han's mind clicked that it was likely the overcrowding was in violation of the New Alliance's fire code regulations. But that was just the official part, the part that Leia had encouraged and instructed so long ago. That part closed down immediately when he caught sight of Luke. Han leaned back in the shadows against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

And watched as he had always enjoyed watching. Noted the play of emotions across the beautiful, mobile features. Happiness was there tonight. Happiness that he had seen so often in the past, that he had deliberately erased with his dispassionate responses, with that terrible need he'd felt to protect himself from the one who laid claim to his soul.

The eyes were hidden from him, yet he knew how their crystal blue would follow the person Luke was speaking to, would light up with warmth and laughter or fade and withdraw with hurt. A halo limned the burnished gold hair that had been one of the first things he'd noticed about the young Jedi. In the gloom of the Mos Eisley cantina, the feathery strands had captured to themselves all the light in the room, eclipsing everything else, sending Han deeper into the protective shield he'd built around himself.

Unconsciously he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, remembering the warm softness of it like silk between his fingers. Against his lips. Trailing across his belly. The need to touch was a driving, undeniable force. His breath clogged in his throat. He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and waited for the return of some semblance of control.

Imprinted on his eyelids was the after-image of the scene. Luke, of course, and with him a stranger, an eminently suitable stranger. Handsome, undoubtedly sophisticated and warm. And obviously more than a little smitten with his companion. The familiar pangs of jealousy slid through his veins.

If he hadn't been such a proud, stubborn fool, unable to confess his fear of the Darkness that possessed a part of his lover, it would be Han Solo who sat there, holding hands across the table, laughing into those too-understanding eyes.

Now he wanted to cross that room and claim his lover back. But if Luke wanted revenge, there could be nothing sweeter than the humiliation of a very public rejection. Perhaps it was better simply to stay here in the shadows, as he had done so often, and watch from a safe distance.

Faint heart never won fair Jedi. Hadn't he said that to the beautiful, elusive man many years back? He couldn't remember, but he did know that nothing in this galaxy, not even his nagging fears, were going to keep him out of Luke's arms.

As he watched, the band switched to a slow number, a wailing bluesy song that fitted his mood exactly. Fear dried his mouth as he waited to see if Luke danced with the man. But in response to the question, the golden head leaned across the table, then shook. Luke smiled at his companion, the sweetness in his soul radiating across his face. Jealousy ripped through Han again, sharp and urgent, and below it a deeper feeling, a sense that something was wrong.

With Luke?

Or with himself. Han paused, strove to recapture the elusive understanding. It vanished like sand slipping through his fingers and was gone.

He angled through the crowd, aware only of Luke. Tension built in him, knotting in his stomach. Surely the pounding of his heart was clear to everyone, even above the moaning of the music. From the corner of his eyes, he could see avid interest written on many faces, whispers passed around the room of the impending confrontation between the Jedi Skywalker and the former General Solo.

Have a field day, people.

He approached from the rear and tapped Luke's shoulder. "May I?" he asked, and was pleasantly surprised to note that his voice not only sounded even, but quite cool and confident.

He could feel, registering in every cell of his body, the moment when Luke's lids lifted and the blue eyes looked at him.

And he was lost. Totally and utterly lost. The carefully rehearsed conversation, the devil-may-care swagger. All of it gone in the fraction of a second when their eyes met. Gracelessly, he moved back, waiting, and took Luke in his arms. Closed his eyes to escape the merciless demands in the crystal depths. His legs moved jerkily, he supposed in some sort of reaction to the music that had become a distant cacophony in his ears. He was drowning in Luke, totally absorbed in the wave of sensations. The familiar scent of shampoo, the tang of a soap he didn't recognize. The feel of the smooth fabric beneath his touch and, under that, the strength that had encompassed him for so long. Han drew in a shaky breath.

"Han?"

His throat was as useless as the rest of him. He swallowed past the lump. "Yeah?"

"Relax."

Only then did he realize how taut his muscles were. He hauled in another breath and tried to force his body to obey him.

"And it's all right for you to open your eyes."

"Is it?" But he obeyed, wishing more than ever that he could read beyond the amusement that curved Luke's mouth. He stumbled, recovered. "I think my feet have grown," he said by way of apology.

"It certainly feels that way."

"Sorry." He drew Luke closer, dreading the moment when the man would pull away. But Luke came, his head finding its accustomed place on Han's shoulder.

Odd, really, how such a simple gesture could return his vision to its rightful perspective. Put the melody back into the music. Return feeling to his numbed limbs. He rubbed his cheek against the silky warmth of the golden hair.

"You feel wonderful," he whispered.

The tiny movement of Luke's head, the infinitesimal tightening of the arm that circled Han's shoulders, acknowledged the compliment.

Damnit, he thought. They felt right together. What the hell had been wrong with him to throw away the years that they had together? Here, dancing with the beautiful man of his dreams, he couldn't recall the violence of the emotions that had driven him to end the relationship.

Because it had been him who ended it. Not Luke, as he had told himself so many times during the past months. He'd created a living hell for the pair of them, and Luke had stayed until he'd been pushed beyond hope. Breaking perhaps, with the fragility that Han had insisted he demonstrate.

Why hadn't he been able to accept all of Luke's virtues and flaws? He'd demanded that the less than perfect Jedi be reliant on him, all the while knowing it was a rejection of the man's real strengths. And when Luke had tried to tell him of his background and his future, he'd run.

Luke lifted his head. "Han?" A tiny smile curved the pale mouth. "You're a long way away."

He swallowed hard. Blood hammered in his veins. "I can be as close as you want me to be."

The lashes swept down. "The music's over."

"No," he said quickly. "No, it isn't. Wait-- "

And Luke waited. Staying there in the circle of Han's arms while he thought frantically of what he had to say to make certain that his lover stayed. What would it take for Luke to look up at him and whisper that it was time for them both to go home?

A miracle, obviously, because when the second song ended, Luke freed himself without a word and went back to his table. From the periphery of his vision Han watched, jealousy welling up as the stranger leaned forward, saying the things that Luke wanted to hear.

He could say those things, too. I love you! He sent the message urgently, willing Luke to look at him. This time it didn't work. He could feel the walls closing in, the press of bodies around him too much to bear.

Frustrations on a dozen different levels tore through him. Why wouldn't Luke come to him? What did he have to do to make the younger man realize--

Make. There was their problem, encapsulated in one word. He had always tried to make Luke into what he wanted, what he wouldn't fear. Now he tried to make Luke come back to him instead of baring his soul and apologizing for his fear and obstinance. Was Han Solo too old to change? To learn to accept all of Luke, not just the bright, vulnerable youngster of his fantasies?

What did he want-- all or none? That was his choice. And it was his, not Luke's. Luke had made his own decision years ago.

He decided.

Han lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. With his heart racing in his ears, he pushed through the crowd to reclaim his lover.

**End**


End file.
